Something Old, Something New
by DrMellark
Summary: Katniss Everdeen has reluctantly accepted her long-time boyfriend Gale Hawthorne's marriage proposal. But, after a night out "celebrating" with her friends, she wakes up in the bed of a handsome blue-eyed blonde who isn't her fiance. Rated M for language, lemons. Katniss POV. Modern Day AU.
1. Tequila

**Rated M **for language, sexual content. All characters belong to Suzanne Collins.

Chapter 1: Tequila

I shouldn't have told Prim first.

In all honesty, though, who else could I have told? Johanna? Madge? Annie?

Johanna would have laughed in my faced and called me an idiot.

Madge would have squealed so loud that I would have lost my hearing for a week.

Annie would have smiled and congratulated me; she's usually subtler than my other girl friends.

Now that I think about it, maybe I should have told Annie.

But family comes first, so the moment my cell phone finally registered a signal after we trekked down the mountain trail, I called Prim with the news. And being her newly 21-year-old self, of course she took the opportunity and ran with it, planning a celebration downtown and inviting all of my friends. So, here I am, in my tightest outfit and most uncomfortable pair of heels, while all of my friends toast to the newly engaged Katniss Everdeen.

I've only been engaged for less than 6 hours. Gale had taken the day off so we could go hiking together and popped the question once we reached the top of Enchanted Rock. It was a fitting proposal; we both love the outdoors and hiking was one of our favorite hobbies. However, our outdoor excursions had become a rare occurrence recently, since Gale was busy trying to make the transition from law into politics.

I should have had my suspicions when he suggested the hike, but after knowing Gale for as long as I have, I thought he understood my… unfavorable stance on marriage. So, when we got to the top of the mountain and I watched him drop to one knee with that telltale velvet box, I was completely caught off guard. I don't think I even said "yes," just nodded like an idiot.

Gale has been my best friend since I was eleven and we started dating when I was a sophomore in high school. That's almost ten years ago. Marriage is the next logical step, I suppose. Not to mention the fact that bachelors typically don't do as well in the political arena.

Gale seemed happy; the smile on his face was wide and contagious after I agreed. I probably looked the part of happy and shocked new fiancé afterwards, on the outside anyway. But now that I'm sitting at the bar, surrounded by my best friends, the weight of it all is suddenly starting to sink in. And rather than feeling excitement or happiness, I feel confused and terrified.

"Why aren't you wearing your ring?"

Madge interrupts my internal panic while she scrutinizes my bare left ring finger.

"It was a little loose, and I don't want to lose it," I explain, "We're getting it resized this weekend."

I don't tell her about the fact that I had a borderline panic attack after I got home; an attack that was only alleviated the second that diamond was off my finger. Most of my friends are so happy for me that I don't want to even hint at the internal debate ranging inside my head. Johanna, on the other hand, makes her opposing opinion very clear.

"I think it's a mistake," she scoffs, taking a large swig of her vodka-Sprite.

Prim, who has yet to transition from her fruity alcoholic drink phase, clutches her Malibu Bay Breeze and retorts. "How can you say that, Johanna? They've been dating for forever and Gale is practically family already! It's about time they got engaged!"

Sweet, innocent Prim. Always seeing the best of every situation. I know she's more excited than I am. Prim is aware of my general aversion to the whole institution of marriage so this news came as a shock to her. But, considering the fact that she's been dating Gale's little brother Rory for almost four years now, Prim has been on cloud nine at the whole idea of me marrying Gale. I think she expects Rory to be scared into following suit and proposing to her, too.

Instead, Johanna smirks. "Dating for forever also means that Katniss hasn't had a chance to… test drive anything different. If you know what I mean."

Prim looks a little lost. "I don't understand."

"Katniss hasn't fucked anyone else besides Gale," Annie explains, without a hint of hesitation.

I almost do a spit take at her words. I love Annie, but sometimes that girl is something else. Quiet and subdued one second, blunt and honest the next.

Redness flushes into Prim's face while she slurps more of her drink through a bright neon straw. She recovers and responds. "Its not Katniss's fault that she met her soul mate when she was eleven!"

I choke on my whiskey-coke at Prim's statement. Soul mate? No. I'm far too cynical to think like that. But I keep my mouth shut for Prim's sake; it's my job as her big sister to protect her and I'm not about to ruin her perfect illusion of love and marriage.

Our little argument is interrupted by the arrival of a very handsome head of copper hair. "How are you ladies doing tonight?" he croons.

I look up and survey the table, noting my friends' reactions to this bronze-haired, green-eyed Adonis that has graced us with his presence. He isn't my type, but I'm aware enough to know that a face and body like that must appeal to a majority of the female population. Madge's jaw has dropped, and Prim sits there wide-eyed. Annie can only stare while Johanna looks completely unaffected.

"Better if we had more to drink," Johanna responds. I can tell that she's not impressed by this particular male specimen, but she'll do what she needs to if it means free booze.

He smiles and turns around, waving at who I assume are his friends at the bar. "My name is Finnick," he explains after his friends take his cue and make their way over. "You girls are in luck because we just happen to be buying the next round. What are you girls drinking?"

The rest of the table compose themselves enough to mutter out their drink orders. I ask for another whiskey-Coke. Finnick grabs a nearby waitress and orders our drinks, flashing her a dazzling smile that causes her to trip on the way to fill our orders. His group arrives at the table and Finnick begins the introductions.

There are three other guys with him: two tall, broad-shouldered blondes and a rather large and intimidating dark-haired man with coffee colored skin. One of the blondes is named Cato. He looks like a "bro" and speaks like one, too. I can tell he's trying to subtly flex his biceps during his introduction and I fight off the urge to scoff out loud. Despite his outwards appearance, the dark-skinned guy, Thresh, seems to be pretty friendly. He has a kind face and a rather shy demeanor.

Finally, Finnick introduces the other blonde in the group as Peeta. Peeta looks up and smiles, and the wind is knocked out of me as I catch a glimpse of his eyes. To say they were blue would be an injustice; I have never seen eyes as literally breath-taking as his.

Unfortunately, I am in the middle of swallowing a mouthful of my drink when he's introduced, and the liquid finds its way down my windpipe, reducing me to an embarrassing coughing fit. I recover and again catch his eyes, which are now filled with concern.

"I'm okay," I manage to spit out and I catch Johanna smirk knowingly at me.

Our two groups continue to mingle and drink. Johanna and Finnick are busy in some kind of debate: not the heated and malicious kind but more of the "argue for argument's sake". Annie has her eyes transfixed on Finnick yet seems too self-conscious to actually speak to him. Madge is indulging Cato by commenting on how big his arms are and asking how much he can bench press. Prim is having a friendly conversation with Thresh and I keep my eyes protectively on her.

My observations are disturbed by a male voice.

"Your name is Katniss, right?"

I turn my head towards the source of the sound and realize that Peeta is sitting next to me. Luckily, my initial shock at his striking appearance has passed and I am able to speak coherently. "Yes. You're Peeta?"

He smiles and nods, taking a swig from his beer bottle. An awkward silence settles between us and I wrack my mind for something, anything to say. "What brings you guys out here? A special occasion?"

Peeta chuckles and takes another long sip from his bottle. "You could call it that."

Finnick must overhear our conversation and butts in. "Peeta got dumped today so we're celebrating his newly single status!"

Finnick clinks his beer bottle with Peeta's and Peeta smiles a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes.

As quickly as Finnick appeared, he was gone again; engrossed in his conversation with Johanna.

Again the silence creeps in between us. "I'm sorry to hear that," I finally say.

"Don't worry about it," Peeta explains. "I guess I saw it coming."

"Were you together long?" I ask. I know that I shouldn't be asking such personal questions, but I can't help but wonder what kind of guy Peeta is. Is he a "new girl every week" type or a serial monogamist? I shouldn't care but I can't help my curiosity.

"Three years," he responds, "Her name was Glimmer. I was actually going to propose to her soon. Surprisingly, I'm more relieved than upset about the whole situation. We've been having some problems lately and I guess I attributed it to the fact that I hadn't asked her to marry me, yet. Turns out we just grew into different people. I think I was going to propose more for the fact that it just seemed like the next step, and not necessarily because I wanted to marry her. That's not a good enough reason to commit to somebody, right?"

The words strike a chord with me, and instead of responding, I chug the rest of my drink.

We continue with more friendly conversation; where we grew up, where we went to college, where we work. I learn Peeta owns his own business but he doesn't elaborate any further. I tell him about my family's compounding pharmacy and how my mother and I took over after my father died.

I'm shocked at all the personal information I am bestowing upon this stranger, but he seems trustworthy and the words just spill out of my mouth. I can't help but realize, however, that I have yet to mention anything about Gale.

I feel a tap on my shoulder and turn around to find Johanna holding up a very inebriated Prim. "I think she got drunk off of all the male attention," Johanna explains, "And the Patron."

I stand up, ready to put Prim in a cab and go home, but Johanna abruptly stops me. "I'll take care of her. You stay here and have fun!"

She winks at me and I am suddenly self-conscious. I am ready to protest until I turn around and find those blue eyes that again render me speechless. Finnick approaches the two of us holding shot glasses of clear liquid. He slams them on the table and chastises us for not being "drunk enough".

I look to Peeta and see him shrug, picking up the glass and tipping it towards me. I bring my glass up and tap it on his, then back on the table and finally swig it back, recognizing the familiar burn of tequila. I lose count of how many times this happens; some shots are chased with limes, others not.

My vision becomes fuzzy and my ears feel like they're filled with cotton. I try to observe the room, looking for the rest of my friends. Annie is nowhere to be found and I realize that Finnick is missing, as well. I see Madge grinding with Cato on the dance floor, her eyes glazed over in a way that tells me that she's probably even drunker than I am. Thresh is at the bar and I watch him point towards our table, probably sending over another round of shots.

The tequila arrives and Peeta and I chase this one by feeding the limes to each other. I laugh; I guess enough alcohol can reduce even the most serious girls into giggling messes.

Peeta starts laughing, too, and I watch his chest heave up and down, admiring the way his shirt moves and hints at the toned body underneath his clothing. My eyes travel up to take in his broad shoulders and I watch his Adam's apple bob as he swallows. I realize that I'm biting my lip.

Finally, I meet his eyes and find that neither of us is laughing anymore; that I've just been caught ogling him like a horny teenage girl.

I can feel the tension thick in the air and we sit there and stare at each other in silence. I would probably be embarrassed if I wasn't so drunk. Or turned on. His lips start to move and I can only catch the end of his sentence.

"…get out of here?"

For the second time in the past twenty-four hours, I can only nod like an idiot.

* * *

**A/N: **Thanks for reading! I hoped I've intrigued you all enough to stick around with me for this story. If you haven't already, check out my other Everlark Modern Day AU: On My Way to Believing! Please review; I'd love to hear what you all think!


	2. Morning

Chapter 2: Morning

I wake up, disoriented and still pretty drunk. The room is pitch black; it must still be early in the morning and the sun has yet to come up. There's a heavy arm around my waist and a bright light coming from the bedside table. I finally register that it's my cell phone, grab it, and find a new text message.

_Catnip, Sry I didn't make it home 2nite. Pulling all-nighter to make up the work I missed after I took time off for our trip. Hope you had fun w/ the girls. Be home this afternoon. _

At first, I'm confused. How could Gale have sent a text message when he's lying right next to…

The light from my phone is enough to catch the head of blond hair on the pillow next to me. Panic sets in and I'm instantly sobered, realizing that I am completely naked with a man, in an apartment I have never seen before. I frantically search the room for my clothes, the light from the phone screen revealing the trail of fabric leading out the bedroom door.

I am able to slip out of his grasp without waking him, carefully placing my bare feet on the floor. I thank the heavens that I am light on my feet while I silently follow the clothing trail, picking up my panties and bra before I'm out of the bedroom and in the hallway. My dress is further down the hall and I don't find my shoes until I reach the front door of the apartment.

I throw on my clothing and carefully open the door, trying to minimize any creaking that will give away my attempt to escape. The apartment is on the second floor and when I am finally outside I can see that it is nestled on top of a business.

Rather than stick around and enjoy my surroundings, I turn my walk of shame into a sprint, heels in my hands just like those girls I told myself I would never be.

Damn tequila.

I finally find myself on a busy street and hail a cab, giving the driver the address to Gale's and my apartment. He smirks at me in the mirror, clearly aware of my current predicament. I'm sure plenty of cab drivers are used to picking up disheveled women in the early morning hours.

In the safety of the cab, I finally give myself a chance to recall the events of the night. Everything is a blur and comes back in short segments. I remember being at the bar with Prim, Madge, Annie and Johanna. The boys coming to the table. The tequila shots. A pair of piercing blue eyes.

And with that image, more memories flood back into my mind. Being pinned against the front door of Peeta's apartment. Clothes being tossed aside as we frantically kiss our way towards the bedroom. Being shoved onto the bed and watching those blue eyes peeking up at me from between my legs. Finally, the look on Peeta's face as he enters me and fucks me hard, drawing out moans and frantic curses as my body is overcome with lust and pleasure.

I roll down the window of the cab, my body suddenly hot and sweating at the vivid recollection.

How did I let this happen?

The tequila would be an easy culprit. Yet, despite the amount of alcohol in my system, I can clearly remember making the conscious decision to go home with Peeta.

Maybe it was like Johanna had said. Gale had been my first and only; perhaps my subconscious had driven me to experiment.

Maybe I felt bad that Peeta had just been dumped and I felt the need to serve as some sort of pity-fuck.

But the reason that stands out the most was that I simply panicked at the idea of being engaged to Gale and instead of just drowning my fear at the bottom of an alcohol bottle, I decided to take it one step further and sleep with someone who wasn't my fiancé.

I can't tell Gale. Hell, I can't tell anyone. It was a one-time lapse of judgement, a moment of weakness after being so vulnerable from the tequila and the fear and the blue eyes.

The thought of those eyes sends me back, again, and my heart races as I think about the way Peeta had made me feel: alive and sexy and satisfied. But it doesn't matter. I'll never see him again and I'm with Gale. I love Gale. I'm **_marrying_** Gale.

The phrase feels so foreign and terrifying.

The cab pulls up to the apartment building and I get out and pay the driver. As I ride the elevator, I silently pray that Gale's text had held true and that he hasn't been home since before I left to go downtown last night. When I open the door, the darkness and silence of the apartment, along with the still-made bed, fill me with relief. Gale hasn't been back.

My head is pounding, so I crawl into bed, throw the covers over myself and fall back asleep.

* * *

I wake up when I feel the mattress dipping and the covers being pulled off my head. I groan and cover my eyes with one hand while the other reaches blindly for the comforter.

"It's three in the afternoon, Catnip. How long have you been sleeping?"

"Tequila," is all I have to tell him.

Gale chuckles and kisses my temple. "You are not 21 years old anymore; I thought you had learned your limits by now."

His words suddenly remind me and I sit up in bed. "Prim!"

I look frantically for my phone; I need to check and make sure Prim made it home all right.

"Don't worry, I spoke to Rory and she's okay. Sleeping off a hangover, but okay. You Everdeens and tequila are a dangerous combination."

I sigh, relieved, and fall back on the bed. In my panic, I manage to locate the comforter and I pull it up over my face. Gale leaves and returns with a glass of water and two ibuprofen.

I feel a stab of guilt at his attentiveness, reminded of last night's transgressions and how much it would hurt him if he ever found out.

Even if we've spent most of our time recently co-inhabiting an apartment rather than acting like two people in a romantic relationship, Gale has always taken care of me. Gale will always take care of me. What happened last night was a mistake, and I can't let it happen again. I won't.

"It's time to get up, Catnip," he tells me, "We've got a wedding to start planning."

I know this statement is meant to rouse me. But all I want to do is curl up in a ball and go back to sleep.

* * *

The next few weeks are torture. I'm no good with all of this wedding planning stuff, but Prim swiftly takes the reins and ends up running the show. She's making appointments, browsing through bridal magazines, researching venues. Eventually we settle on a date in October; almost six months from now. Save-the-date cards are mailed to friends and family, bridesmaids and groomsmen are picked, gifts registries are made.

I trust Prim's judgment when it comes to booking wedding dress fittings, cake designer appointments, and floral arrangements. I never anticipated ever getting married so all of this is foreign to me. The joy I see in Prim's face makes it some-what worth the trouble.

Gale is generally absent from the planning, busy with work at his law firm and trying to hammer out the details for running for a seat in the State Senate. We rarely see each other, let alone have time to do anything that we used to find enjoyable together. He's working; I'll have to get used to his schedule if he ever becomes an elected official. I'm busy trying to hold myself together while Prim plans this wedding. My wedding.

The first big appointment was for a dress fitting. Prim had decided on an up-and-coming designer named Cinna and even I had to admit that the man was a magician. I had tried on a few dresses at the shop, none of which seemed right, until Cinna arrived and intervened, bringing in an A-line dress with an empire waist and lace cap sleeves over a satin fabric. I walked out of the changing room and Prim practically screamed, tears filling her eyes. Even I couldn't deny it. Despite the fact that all the dresses I had tried on previously were beautiful, this one was undeniably me.

I looked at myself in the mirror, unable to breath. The girls had taken it as a sign that I was overwhelmed with happiness and excitement. I was overwhelmed, all right, but not in a way a soon-to-be bride should be when she finds THE dress. I calmed myself down enough to play it off, but reality began to sink in. I was getting married.

Now, a week later, the appointment I'm actually looking forward to the most finally arrives: wedding cake consultation. Prim had, again, done the research and set up the appointment. She seemed all about picking "trendy" places and this bakery was apparently all the rage. I just want an excuse to eat as much cake and icing as possible.

Prim is supposed to be meeting me at the bakery after her classes end. As I walk to the appointment, I get an apologetic text from her saying that she can't make it. Apparently she has a grant proposal due and her faculty mentor had made monumental changes on her first draft and she needs to spend the rest of the night revising.

Oh well, more cake for me.

I'm lost in thought as I walk down the street towards the address that Prim gave me. The engagement ring feels heavy on my hand; now that we've gotten it resized, I can't find an excuse not to wear it. The area looks vaguely familiar, but I don't think about it much. I've lived in this city long enough to have traveled most of its neighborhoods at least once.

The bakery is called "Cornucopia", located in an old red-brick building. The place looks simple and homey; everything you picture a bakery to be. When I walk inside, I'm greeted by a dark-skinned woman with blond hair. Her name tag reads "Portia."

"I'm here for a wedding cake consultation," I tell her. "The appointment is probably under the name Primrose Everdeen".

She smiles and escorts me to a private consultation room, telling me that Mr. Mellark will be in shortly to see me. I shift nervously in my chair, admiring the paintings on the wall. There is a binder on the table that acts as a sort of "portfolio", filled with different cakes that the bakery has made before. I find myself flipping through the pages, admiring the beautiful designs; Prim has really done her research. I am so engrossed that I don't hear the door open. My thoughts are interrupted by a male voice.

"Well, well," he chuckles, "I knew you'd be back for more."

I look up and find a familiar pair of blue eyes.

Well, shit.

* * *

**A/N: **Thanks for reading! I got such a huge response to this story which is both exciting and terrifying, but mostly exciting. Thank you to all of you who followed, favorite-d and reviewed!

I really want to preface this story by saying that, if you knew me in real life, you'd know that I'm very much against the whole idea of cheating on a significant other. I've been affected by the aftermath of cheating by people really close to me and I'd never wish such a thing on anybody, nor do I condone the behavior.

But, whenever I brainstorm Everlark fics, I tend to focus on certain aspects of the KP relationship. When this idea hit me, I was trying to think of a story that explored the internal battle that Katniss had between the comfort/familiarity of Gale and the passion/hunger/understanding with Peeta. One of the quotes from my other fic reads, "If I know anything about love, I know that it's anything but simple," and that's something I really believe. Love is complicated and messy and sometimes people get hurt along the way. I hope you keep that in mind as the story goes on.

So, readers, I hope you stick around on this journey with me!

Also, pharmacy public service announcement. Notice that Gale gave Katniss ibuprofen for her hangover. Never, ever use Tylenol (acetaminophen) for a hangover! It could damage your liver! Stick with an NSAID (ibuprofen, naproxen, etc,) for a hangover headache! And stay hydrated. Water or Pedialyte!

Anyway, please review; I love to hear anything and everything you have to say! :)


	3. Concessions

Chapter 3: Concessions

Peeta is standing before me holding a plate with a single pastry, wearing a smug look on his face.

My first thought is, "Where is the cake?"

My second thought is, "Dear God, he looks sexy in that apron."

Words escape me, and all I can do is sit there and stare, wide-eyed and shocked. He sits down across the table and pushes the plate towards me.

"It's a cheese bun," he explains. "Just got done with a fresh batch and figured I could give you a taste of what we do here."

I pick up the cheese bun and pull it apart. It's still warm and I can see a little bit of steam radiating off it. I stick it straight into my mouth, thankful for the chance to gather my thoughts as I chew. The flavor explodes in my mouth and I am instantly addicted.

"Holy shit," I mutter. "This is orgasmic."

Peeta bursts out laughing and my face flushes hot with embarrassment. He finally settles down and asks, "What brings you here today, Katniss?"

I fumble nervously with my engagement ring. Peeta finally looks down and notices the diamond, his smile disappearing for a split second. He seems to regain his composure and his teasing demeanor turns professional in an instant.

"How about we start over?" he suggests. "I'm Peeta Mellark, owner and head chef here at Cornucopia. I can see that you're here for a wedding cake consultation, correct?"

I nod.

"Well, I see you've already been looking through some of the cakes we've done in the past. Do you have any particular idea about what you want for your wedding cake?"

I'm slightly frustrated at his seemingly forced politeness and feel the need to make him aware. "You don't have to do this."

"I don't understand."

"_THIS**,**_" I try to clarify. "Acting like nothing happened and awkwardly tip-toeing around the situation. If you're going to work on my wedding cake, we should at least address whatever it is that's going on here."

"You're right," Peeta sighs. "I just didn't know what to do. I've never been in this… situation before."

We both stay quiet and the tension starts to build. I almost regret saying anything when Peeta finally breaks the awkward silence.

"So, when did you get engaged?"

"About 3 weeks ago," I admit.

"So around the time that—"

I cut him off. "Yeah..."

"I see," he ponders. "At least now I know why you disappeared that morning. I'm not going to lie, it kind of bruised my ego."

This time I'm the one who bursts out laughing. He joins in and I feel the tension somewhat dissipate.

The mood seems friendly and I finally speak up, sending the conversation to a much easier and enjoyable topic. "So, where's the cake? I was promised cake."

Peeta finally smiles in earnest. "Portia should be bringing in samples any minute now."

As if on cue, the door opens and Portia walks in with a tray of iced cupcakes and sets them on the table. My eyes go wide at the prospect of all the sugar.

"Prim gave us some ideas for icing and cake combinations, so we made some for you to sample," he explains.

I eagerly grab a fork and dig into the closest cupcake. I cycle through all the flavors while Peeta describes all of them to me: red velvet with cream cheese frosting, chocolate with chocolate frosting, white cake with chocolate butter cream icing. They all taste great and I don't know how to choose.

I dig my fork into the final cupcake, chocolate with raspberry filling and vanilla butter-cream icing. I bring the fork to my lips and taste the combination. My eyes close and a moan involuntarily escapes my throat.

"That sound tells me that we found a winner," Peeta teases.

I shoot him an evil look and he just chuckles.

"Now that we've found the flavor combination, what are you looking for in terms of style or decoration?"

I think about it for a while and my mind draws a blank. I wish Prim was here; she has a very clear vision on what this wedding is supposed to be. I'm just in the passenger seat trying to hang on. I decide its better to ask for some advice.

"You're the expert," I tell Peeta. "What would your wedding cake be like?"

He thinks for a moment and responds. "I'd have three tiers, with pearl-lined accents and fresh flowers. Orange lilies. Orange is my favorite color."

I try and envision the cake in my mind. It's simple but elegant.

"I like that," I confess. "But I don't want to take your idea. My dress has lace in it; could you work with that?"

Peeta nods, "Of course."

"And instead of the lilies, can you do red roses? I think that's what Prim decided for the flowers."

"Sure. About how many people are you expecting at the wedding?"

"About 300."

Peeta's eyes go wide and I feel the need to explain.

"It's what happens when you're marrying a man with political aspirations. Can't risk not inviting somebody and burning any bridges."

"That will probably need about six or seven tiers," he explains. "I can work the numbers and see how much it would cost. If you leave your contact information with Portia, I can get back to you on it. How does that sound?"

"Sounds reasonable," I tell him.

"Alright. Other than that, do you have any other questions?"

"Yeah," I smile. "Can I have another one of those cheese buns?"

* * *

It's been two days since the cake consultation and I find myself at home, contemplating what to do now that Peeta has made a sudden reappearance. He knows who I am now; knows about my engagement and my infidelity. A part of me is nervous that he'll say something, but I'm not overly worried; he doesn't seem like the gossiping or blackmailing type. Despite the initial awkwardness, we both seemed to have a mutual understanding of what happened that night three weeks ago.

Our interactions were pretty relaxed and amicable during the consultation. He has this really easy-going way of talking with people, of putting them at ease. Even that night at the bar, I felt comfortable holding a conversation with him, despite my general incompetence when it comes to talking with strangers.

I'm lost in thought, sitting on a stool at the kitchen island when Gale comes home on his lunch break. He walks to where I'm sitting and presses a kiss on my forehead. He's sauntering around the apartment, hanging up his coat and putting away his briefcase as he fills me in on his day. He makes his way to the kitchen, grabbing a pot to heat up some leftovers. I'm half-listening to his words, twirling my engagement ring around my finger and staring at it absently.

"...and the mayor wants to throw us an engagement party and he's going to invite a bunch of his supporters so I can start networking. Has Madge talked to you about it?"

The party is news to me and I silently shake my head. Gale goes on, talking about how great of an opportunity it is, how much it will help his campaign, how the mayor even offered his mansion for us to hold the wedding.

I know I should respond; act excited or grateful or _something_. But I don't feel any of these things and I'm a terrible actress so I just sit and play with my ring.

Gale notices though and I jolt at the loud crash of the metal pot hitting the bottom of the sink.

"Damnit, Katniss. You could at least _act_ like you're happy about marrying me."

My head snaps up to look at him and I can see the frustration simmering behind his grey eyes. We're both stubborn, combative, and not afraid to hurt each other. It's one of the downfalls of our familiarity.

"I said yes, didn't I?" I say, sarcasm seeping into my voice. "I'm wearing the ring to prove it." I thrust up my left hand to show him.

"But you've been apathetic, at best, this entire time!" Gale accuses.

It's true, but Gale knows how I feel about marriage. Growing up, I had made my stance very clear and I thought he understood. "What did you expect from me?" I ask, angrily. "Did you think I was going to turn into some kind of giddy, giggling, blushing bride after you proposed? For fuck's sake, Gale. I know you know me better than that."

Our history tells me that this has the potential of turning into a screaming match; the two of us butting heads and refusing to give in. We're staring each other down, waiting for the other to make the next move, but Gale's body suddenly relaxes and his voice softens. "You're right, Katniss. I'm sorry. I know you need more time. I'm sorry I pushed you."

I'm surprised by his apology and it takes me a second to back down from my own fighting mentality. At first I'm confused by his willingness to admit fault, but I realize that it's a concession. I conceded to marrying him, and he'll concede victory in this argument. It's a give and take, a compromise.

We eat our lunch in an uncomfortable silence, knowing that we've solved nothing, yet too afraid to talk about anything.

* * *

After Gale leaves to go back to work, I notice a voicemail on my cell phone from an unfamiliar number. I listen to the message and I feel my heart race at the sound of his voice.

_Hey, Katniss. This is Peeta-Uh, Peeta Mellark, from Cornucopia. I have the quote ready for your cake. Feel free to call back or come in to discuss it. I'll be waiting to hear from you. Thanks._

I'm still on edge from my argument, or lack-there-of, with Gale but I don't have any other plans for the day so I grab my things and head over to Cornucopia. When I arrive, Peeta's at the register ringing up a customer. A bell jingles when I open the door and he snaps his attention to me, greeting me with a smile that makes my knees buckle.

I should have just called back on the phone.

When he finishes with the customer, he turns his attention to me, bringing out a file folder with all the information about the wedding cake, along with the quoted price. He goes over the form in detail, confirming the flavor and decoration and number of guests. I'm distracted, though, both by the thoughts racing in my head and by my general disinterest in the details of my own wedding.

Peeta must notice my lack of attentiveness. "You look like you have a lot on your mind," he offers.

I look up at him, a little startled by his ability to read me. I nod my head in affirmation, unsure of whether I should elaborate. Before I can open my mouth to speak, Peeta turns around and disappears into the back of the bakery leaving me confused and frozen in place. He reappears, holding my salvation.

"Fresh from the oven," he says, handing me a warm, steaming cheese bun.

I am grateful for the momentary distraction; the chance to clear my thoughts and focus on chewing and tasting and savoring the delicious pastry. It's the first time my head has been clear in the past two days.

I sign the cake contract, put down a deposit, thank Peeta for the cheese bun, and order a box to take home. If these cheese buns are the thing that will help keep me sane until the wedding, then screw having to fit in my wedding dress. I have a feeling I'll be seeing a lot more of the Cornucopia bakery. And Peeta Mellark.

* * *

**A/N: **Sure, Katniss. Keep telling yourself you're going back for the cheese buns.

Anyway, thanks for reading! I'm already working on Chapter 4, which should be out by the end of the week so keep a look out! Also, thank you for all the reviews, follows, and favorites!

A very special shout-out to **katnissinme** who beta-d this chapter! She's awesome; go check her out!

Please review and tell me what you thought!


	4. Hunger

Chapter 4: Hunger

I stop by Cornucopia every day for the next month to buy a cheese bun. I become familiar with the time of day when they're the freshest, and after a week Peeta always has one set aside for me. We make friendly conversation and I find myself looking forward to seeing him every day.

I tell myself it's because he makes me cheese buns.

Things with Gale have been strained lately. He's busy all the time, and whenever we are home together we awkwardly dance around each other, avoiding any kind of heavy conversation. We're not fighting, which is good in a way, but then it's because we're not really talking in the first place. It's relieving and frustrating at the same time, and there are times when I can't stand even being in the apartment.

Now, I find myself back at Cornucopia, discussing my rather unhealthy addiction to a baked good.

"I swear, Peeta. There has to be crack in these cheese buns because I am seriously addicted."

He laughs. "That may be the best compliment I have gotten about my baked goods, ever."

"If I knew how to make these at home, I'd have probably gained over 200 lbs. by now," I confess, pulling off another piece and popping it into my mouth.

In fact, the cheese buns have already started taking their toll. Prim has hounded me non-stop about the hassle of getting my dress let out should I keep putting on weight. My fingers have swollen so much that I had to get my ring resized, again. It had been cutting off my circulation, especially since they reduced it too much the first time I made them resize it. Of course, that was originally an excuse to put off having to wear it in the first place, but now that whole idea seems to have backfired.

"I can give you the recipe," he offers. "It's really simple and I honestly feel bad taking your money every day. I feel like you're single-handedly keeping me in the black with this addiction of yours."

I laugh and dismiss the idea. "You've never seen me in a kitchen. You might say it's simple but I'll find a way to screw it up."

"Then how about I teach you?"

I ponder the idea for a minute. The offer seems innocent enough. We've spent the past month going from acquaintances to some semblance of a friendship; the _incident _hasn't been brought up since the first cake consultation. Besides, I probably shouldn't turn down an offer for cooking lessons considering how terrible I am when it comes to any sort of food preparation. Now that I'm getting married, I need to learn sooner or later.

"You'd do that?"

"Sure," he smiles. "You can come by after closing one day and I can show you how it's done. When are you free?"

A voice in the back of my head keeps telling me this is a terrible idea. That I should tell him, "Thanks for the offer, but no thanks."

But Peeta's blue eyes are looking at me and I kindly, and silently, tell the voice to shut the hell up.

I try to think about my schedule. Gale is busy tonight at a business dinner with his campaign manager. Prim has to work on her research project. None of the girls have contacted me about any upcoming plans. My mother is scheduled to close the pharmacy.

"How about tonight?" I ask.

Peeta's eyes light up and I am suddenly breathless. "Alright," he beams. "It's a date."

* * *

I spend the rest of the afternoon getting ready for my baking lesson with Peeta. The bedroom is a mess after I overturn my entire closet looking for something to wear. I can't understand the compelling need to find the right outfit but I am too on-edge to try and figure it out.

Maybe I'm just trying to find something I'm not afraid to get dirty. After all, things can always get messy in the kitchen.

I also try not to dwell on Peeta's word choice when setting up this cooking lesson. We're friends. I've seen him almost every day for a month now. There hasn't been anything, besides the events that first night, that indicates that this would be anything more than a lesson between friends.

I'm on my fifth outfit change of the night when I look at the clock and realize I'm out of time. I'm supposed to pick up my ring from the jeweler's on the way but I decide that it can wait until tomorrow. Anyway, if we're going to be kneading dough or something, I figure it's best not to wear any jewelry.

At the last second, I throw on an orange spaghetti strap sundress and a pair of flats. I let my hair out of my signature braid and look myself once over in the mirror. I look pretty, which is not usually what I aim for when I go out. I don't let myself think about the fact that I decided to pick the one article of clothing in my closet that happens to be orange.

When I arrive at Cornucopia, the front of the bakery is dark but I can see the lights on in the kitchen. I knock on the window and wait for a response. Peeta finally appears through the swinging double doors and smiles when he sees me. He makes his way toward the door and lets me in.

"You look nice," he compliments.

I try to hide my blush. "It's pretty hot outside for May," I explain.

"Well, then. Let's get started."

Peeta leads me to the kitchen and gives me a quick tour. I can honestly say that I don't pay a lick of attention; simply nodding and smiling at his words. He speaks so animatedly about his work that I am distracted by his body movements and facial expressions. I can tell that he loves what he does.

On one of the counters are a bunch of bowls and utensils, which I assume will be our workstation. A small pile of dough sits on the counter as well.

"I'm going to tell you what to do while I finish kneading this. Okay?"

I nod and bring my attention to the ingredients in front of me. There's flour, baking powder, sugar, salt, garlic powder, milk and cheddar cheese. Peeta resumes kneading, his skilled hands pulling and stretching the dough to the right consistency. I try and follow his simple directions but I find myself distracted by his hands and arms, the muscles flexing while he manipulates the dough.

At some point he stops kneading, perhaps satisfied with the texture. I watch in shock as he sticks two fingers into the dough, and I am frozen in place by the imagery. I mutter out a small gasp and Peeta looks over at me. Our eyes lock, those dazzling blues causing my mind to be flooded by lustful memories of our night together. My body ignites and my thighs unconsciously clench together.

He must notice my reaction and explains. "It's the best way to check whether I've kneaded it enough. If I stick two fingers into the dough and the indentations stay, then I know it's done." He has a smirk on his face and I try to regain my composure.

I turn my attention back to the bowl of ingredients in front of me as Peeta leaves to wash his hands. I'm supposed to mix it using a wooden spoon, but I start getting frustrated when the powdered ingredients escape the bowl as I mix, making a mess all over the counter and the front of my dress.

I hear the faucet turn off and his footsteps approaching. Suddenly, I'm hyper-aware of his presence behind me as he observes my technique.

"Try scraping the bowl and folding towards the middle," Peeta explains.

I try to follow his instructions but the outcome is the same. I groan, frustrated by my clumsiness.

"Here, let me show you."

Suddenly his arms are wrapping around me, his hands covering mine, which are holding the bowl and the wooden spoon. My body goes rigid at his touch.

He guides me through his technique and I can see a vast improvement. My backside grazes his groin, and I can't help but gasp quietly, wondering if I imagined the hardness that I felt against my ass for the briefest second.

He lets go of my hands and continues to observe.

"There you go," Peeta encourages.

I can feel his hot breath on my bare shoulders and a bolt of electricity shoots up my spine. He leans in closer, his lips grazing my ear.

"You were being too rough with it," he whispers and I find myself holding my breath. "I remember how you liked it rough..."

Something inside me snaps and I turn around to face him.

Suddenly his mouth is on mine possessively, and I return the kiss with equal fervor as he pushes the bowl aside behind me and presses me against the counter. My hands grip the edge and I push myself up to sit on the surface, my knees slightly parted.

Peeta steps closer to stand between my legs, our tongues still tangled in a passionate kiss. He reaches around to grab my ass and pulls me to the edge.

I've completely lost the ability to form coherent thoughts, propelled only by the basic need to feel and want. Every action serves to satisfy this hunger that has suddenly overtaken my being.

I wrap my legs around his waist, grinding against him while he moves his hands from my ass around my hips and down my thighs, catching the hem of my dress and bunching it up. I take this as my cue to reach for his belt, undoing the buckle and the button on his slacks and unzipping the front.

Hurriedly, I stick my hands into the opening of his slacks and grip his length through his boxers. He hisses, trailing biting kisses down my neck and collarbone. With my dress already bunched up at my hips, he brings his hands up to the straps, guiding them down my shoulders and exposing my breasts to the warm air of the bakery.

I gasp and my nipples instantly harden at the friction of the fabric being removed. I take the opportunity to stick my thumbs into Peeta's waistband, simultaneously removing his pants and boxers.

Peeta's rough hands find my breasts while his mouth envelops one of my nipples, sucking and biting and pulling it with his teeth. I moan and grind against his exposed hardness, throwing my head back as my panties quickly become damp with my arousal. He pulls away slightly, bringing his hand between my thighs and sampling my wetness with his fingers.

"I told you I remembered," he chuckles, satisfied by my body's response to his touches.

Peeta pushes my panties aside, not even bothering to take them off, and positions himself at my opening. He enters me agonizingly slowly.

"Oooohhhhh fuuuuuccckkkkkk meee…" I gasp.

Once his entire length is inside me, he wastes no time in fulfilling my request; pounding me hard as the rhythmic sound of our skin slapping together fills the quiet bakery. The moans escape my throat in staccato bursts, in time with our hard and frantic rhythm.

Peeta's hand moves from the counter to my back, bringing me closer as I wrap my arms around his neck. We kiss, but our mouths clash as we struggle to keep up our pace. He cups my ass again, lifting me up and off the counter so I'm suspended in midair while he continues to pound into me.

Despite my recent weight gain, he picks me up as if I weigh nothing and I silently reason that those hundred pound bags of flour must be responsible for his considerable amount of upper body strength.

The new position hurdles me toward my orgasm, my moans laced with profanity as I approach my climax.

"Oh, fuck!" I pant. "Peeta! Oh my fucking-"

It hits me like a shockwave and I scream, bucking against him, my muscles clenching and convulsing. I feel him pound me harder, approaching his own release. He quickly follows; one final, hard thrust as he groans and fills me, warmth pooling in my abdomen.

We're both panting and dripping sweat; the ovens in the bakery still heated and waiting for the cheese buns and the bread that will never be baked.

He places me back onto the counter and we're silent for a few moments, trying to compose ourselves and process everything that has just happened. Peeta's shirt is still on, pants around his ankles while my dress is wrinkled and hugging my torso. I fight the urge to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. Peeta, however, is the first to break the silence.

"This is really unsanitary," he gasps, still out of breath.

"I promise I won't report you to the health department," I assure him.

He chuckles and kisses my shoulder, my collarbone, my neck, and finally my lips, cupping my face and planting soft, quick kisses on my mouth and cheeks. I'm still in a state of shock; my body spent from my intense orgasm and my mind still coming to grips with everything that just took place.

Peeta steps away from me, bending down to grab his boxers and pants. I decide to start getting dressed, too, putting my arms back through the straps of my dress and jumping off the counter and smoothing out the wrinkles. As we're busy getting decent, Peeta starts speaking, laughing awkwardly.

"I guess I can shred that contract, huh? It's not our policy to give back deposits, but I think in this case I can make an exception-"

The content of his words suddenly jerks me back to reality. "What are you talking about?" I interrupt.

He looks confused and amused at the same time. "For that wedding cake? I mean, after everything that just happened, and the fact that you haven't been wearing your ring. The way you were responding to me, it's pretty obvious that-"

"Oh, God," I interject for the second time. "I shouldn't have come here. It was stupid of me."

Peeta looks concerned. "Katniss, I don't understand. Are you telling me that you're still—"

My panicked eyes snap up to meet his, which is enough to stop him midsentence.

Peeta thinks I'm not engaged anymore.

It happened again, and this time I don't have the excuse of alcohol to fall back on. This was all me. I let this happen.

"I have to go!" I cry, the realization finally sinking in.

I catch a similar shocked look on Peeta's face as I turn and bolt for the door.

* * *

**A/N: **Thank you for reading!Warning: Long Author's Note Ahead. Please, bear with me!

A few things to address in this author's note.

1. Words cannot express how amazing my beta, **katnissinme**, has been through this whole process. She has been so patient and helpful in talking through this story with me and giving me awesome advice/suggestions. With her help, I think I've found a way to make the characters and the story so much stronger. She deserves all the cheese buns in the world! (And all the readers so go check her out!)

2. I know that I risk losing some of you based on the way the story is going, as well as the sensitive subject matter. I completely understand, and if you end up being one of those people, I really hope you come back for one of my other stories whether it is On My Way to Believing or any of the other ones I have planned. Thanks for giving this story a fair shot. For those who are sticking around, please know that I have concrete plans to complete this story. Rest assured, I will be following this story through to the very end; I've spent too many hours stressing out about the details to NOT follow through.

3. I've toyed with the idea of doing a follow up/companion piece from Peeta's POV since I feel like there are times where Peeta's thoughts/background, etc would be really interesting/helpful in understanding everyone's motivations throughout the story. It probably wouldn't be as long as this piece ends up being, since you'll already know the important plot points. I also realized I could call it "Something Borrowed, Something Blue" which works perfectly. But I'm still up in the air about the whole idea.

4. I've gotten a few people asking about my third story "Plus One" and where they could read it (check out my profile for a quick description). I haven't actually started publishing that one, yet, and it's in the process of getting outlined at the moment. I like to outline all of my stories before I start seriously writing them so that I don't risk abandoning them halfway through. It will definitely be published eventually, but if there's enough interest, I can get the ball rolling on it. Though if I start to publish it, it will probably mean longer wait times for updates for this and On My Way to Believing. Just something to think about.

5. Also toying with the idea of getting a tumblr account. I'd really love a way to keep in contact with the readers and hear what they have to say, as well as to have a place to host some of my stories in case they get removed for some reason. Never had one before, so I'm still on the fence about it.

Thank you to all of you who favorite and follow, and especially those who take the time out to review! I love to hear what you guys have to say; good, bad or random.


	5. Pictures

Chapter 5: Pictures

I arrive back at the apartment after my escape from the bakery and find it empty and dark. Gale must still be at his business dinner. I am thankful for the extra time to compose myself; I'm not sure how I'll react to seeing Gale after everything that just happened with Peeta.

I mindlessly make my way to the bathroom, tossing my soiled dress and undergarments into the hamper. I turn the shower faucet to the hottest temperature my body can handle and step under the jet of water. For a while, I simply stand under the stream, my mind completely blank while the hot drops of water pelt my back mercilessly.

Finally, I allow my thoughts to travel to the events of the night, to try and understand what happened, how it happened, _why_ it happened.

For the second time in two months, I've betrayed Gale. For the second time in two months, I've slept with Peeta.

I think back to my first time with Peeta and the moment I realized exactly what I had done. I was able to come up with a million excuses, a million reasons to explain my behavior. I was drunk. I was shocked by the idea of being engaged. I pitied Peeta after he got dumped. I didn't know what it was like to be with another man.

But none of those excuses hold up this time.

When I accepted the invitation to go over to the bakery tonight, I should have known what could have happened. I may be inexperienced when it comes to relationships, considering Gale is the first and the only person I've ever dated, but I'm far from naïve. There was a part of me that knew going to the bakery tonight was wrong, but I just chose to ignore it.

I ponder the idea of coming clean to Gale, of revealing my infidelity, but I know that being honest with him will mean the end of our relationship, as well as our friendship. After knowing him for as long as I have, I know that an offense like the one I have committed is not one that will be forgiven easily, if ever.

I also consider breaking off the engagement with Gale. After all, if I allowed myself to get to the point of sleeping with another man, maybe something's not working between the two of us. Maybe I'm subconsciously looking for a way out.

The guilt starts to sink in and I feel terrible, dirty, ashamed. I grab my bottle of body wash and squeeze copious amounts of the gel onto my loofah. I lather it up until it's a thick bouquet of bubbles and roughly scrub my arms and legs, my torso and neck; any place that Peeta touched.

I continue to scrub my skin until I'm raw, my scrambled brain rationalizing that if I scrub hard enough, maybe the sin will wash away, along with the guilt and the confusion.

The pads of my fingers are wrinkled, my skin red from the sponge and the scalding water. I finally turn the shower off and grab my towel, patting my body dry and toweling off my hair. I throw on a robe and walk out into the hallway towards the bedroom.

Along the way, the picture frames on the wall catch my attention; photos of my family, of Gale's family and of years of memories, moments and milestones spent with Gale.

One large frame holds a photo of the two of us at Gale's law school graduation. He's wearing his commencement regalia, looking at the camera with a beaming smile. His arm is around me and my gaze is fixed on him, a look of pride and awe on my face.

I walk further down the hall to look at a collage frame full of photos from different trips and events. First, there's a photo of the two of us from my own college graduation, surrounded by both of our families. Then one from the summer we climbed Mount Rainier, taken at the very peak with Gale carrying me piggyback, happy, triumphant, exhausted looks on our faces. Another is from the hunting trip we took together, both of us dressed in camouflage, each proudly holding an antler of an 8-point buck.

Finally, I reach the last frame in the hallway, which holds a faded picture. I'm wearing a hideous purple nylon windbreaker with matching pants and a pair of grass stained Sketchers, my hair in two braids. Gale is wearing a pair of faded jeans, worn out Chucks and a blue and red striped polo that is a couple of sizes too big for him. We're standing next to each other with huge smiles; mine obstructed by the metal of my braces. We have our arms around each other.

It's a picture from our first summer together when I was eleven and Gale was thirteen.

I feel overwhelmed by the sudden flood of nostalgia and I'm suddenly aware that there are tears rolling down my cheeks. For years, being with Gale was everything I knew, one of the few constants in my life. He was one of the few people I knew I could rely on. His family is practically my own and I know that losing him would mean losing them, too.

Despite my indiscretions, I don't think I'm ready to give up the comfort I have with Gale, and I think to myself that maybe there is something between us that's worth saving.

I'm so caught up reminiscing that I don't realize that Gale has made it home and has been watching me silently from the entryway between the hallway and the living room.

"Hey," he says quietly as he walks towards me.

I bring up my hands and wipe the tears from my cheeks. Gale wraps his arms around me, burying his nose in my damp hair. His warmth and scent are all familiar, his chest a safe haven. We stand in the hallway just holding each other, both of us afraid to break the silence. Gale speaks first.

"I'm sorry I haven't been around, Katniss," he sighs, his hands rubbing my back. "Things have been so stressful for me lately with work and the campaign. And I know it's been hard for you with the wedding. We've been taking our frustrations out on each other and it's not right."

I crane my neck to look up at him and silently nod my head. "I'm sorry, too,"

We're both responsible for the distance that has grown between us. I realize, now, that I never even allowed myself to give this engagement any sort of effort. I held my grudges about the situation and took it out on Gale. And as upset as I was that Gale had even brought up marriage in the first place, I have to remind myself that when he asked me, I said yes.

Gale hugs me tighter and kisses the top of my head. My skin, still raw from the shower, stings when he squeezes my body harder, but I welcome the small amount of pain. After everything I've done, a little bit of pain is fine by me.

I finally conclude that I owe it to Gale to give this engagement a real shot. I glance up again at the faded photo and realize that I owe it to the two kids with those goofy smiles in the picture, too.

* * *

A week after the second _incident_, I am jolted awake from dreams of bakeries and kitchens and dough and blue eyes. Suddenly it's back, that hunger, and my thoughts are consumed only by the carnal urge to satiate it. I turn my head and find Gale snoring softly next to me in bed.

I spend a few moments to really look at my fiancé. I've always found Gale to be handsome, and the double takes he gets from women, and even some men, when we're out in public have only served to confirm that fact. My eyes take in his shirtless, sleeping form, wearing nothing but a pair of cotton pajama pants.

Gale is tall and lean, but he's toned; any woman would be lucky to have a man like him in their bed every night.

As I continue to watch him, I try to remember the last time Gale and I were intimate. He's been working late into the night, coming home with tired eyes; out like a light the second his head hits the pillow. But that hunger is building and I realize that if Gale and I are going to make this work, if we get married, then he's the only one who will be there to feed my lustful cravings.

Determined, I turn onto my side, resting on one elbow as I use a finger from my other hand to trace a line from Gale's abdomen up to his chest and back down, hoping to subtly coax him out of sleep and fulfill this sudden desire.

_Peeta is more muscular_, I think, continuing to move my finger along Gale's torso.

My body physically jerks at the thought. _What are you doing?_ I scold myself. _Don't bring him into this._

The movement must have done the trick, though, because Gale starts to stir, a soft moan escaping his lips as he opens his eyes and looks at me. "Hey," he smirks.

"Hi," I whisper, sure that the look in my eyes has given away my intentions. He grips the hand that's caressing his chest and pushes me onto my back, shifting his weight onto his elbows, his body hovering over me.

Gale's lips find mine, and the kisses are soft, familiar. After spending as many years as we have together, we've developed a sort of routine. He knows what I like, I know what he likes; it's as simple as that.

Gale slips his hand under my shirt, resting it on my waist and continuing to kiss me. I want more, though, so I strain my neck and press my lips harder against his. Gale obliges, deepening the kiss, and I continue to take the initiative, my tongue grazing his bottom lip.

He pulls away and chuckles softly. "What's gotten into you?" he asks.

I don't blame him for his confusion; I'm usually not the one to initiate any kind of physical intimacy between the two of us. In the years we've spent together, I've never craved it like I do now. It wasn't until after I was with—

_Nope,_ I say to myself, halting the thought in its tracks and trying to focus my attention back onto Gale. _Don't go there, Katniss._

Gale looks at me funny as if sensing that there's something on my mind, but I don't want to talk so I just bring my hand down his body, slipping it under the waistband of his pants and gripping the growing hardness I find there.

Gale groans and brings his lips back down, resuming the kiss. I continue to stroke him while he brings the hand that's resting on my waist up my body to cup my breast. His thumb grazes my nipple, his fingers soft and smooth.

_Not rough and worn, _I think. _As if they were well worked from hours spent kneading dough and transporting hundred pound bags of flour._

Shit. There I go again. My thoughts are frustrating me to no end because, while I feel terribly guilty, they are also serving to fuel my mounting desire.

_Focus, Katniss_. _Just focus on Gale. On how he's making you feel._

Gale's hand travels down my body, his fingers dipping into my panties and revealing the growing dampness between my legs.

I feel Gale smile against my lips. "You're already so wet," he teases, his fingers sliding up and down my slit. "It _has_ been a while, hasn't it?"

I try to hide the slight panic that swells in me at Gale's words and grip him harder in my hand. Taking it slowly is only giving my brain even more time to think, and considering the place my mind keeps taking me to, I can't afford any more thinking. It's odd because when I was with _him_, I couldn't seem to form a single coherent thought and yet, in this moment, I can't seem to turn my brain off, to stop _thinking._

Again, I take things into my own hands. "Please, Gale," I gasp, letting go of him long enough to tug his pants off. He follows suit, sliding my panties down my legs and lifting my shirt up and over my head. He settles between my thighs, positioning himself at my entrance and pushing into me.

My eyes shut as my body adjusts, and suddenly all I can see behind my eyelids is that magnificent blue. I fight the urge to panic, to act upon my frustration at _his_ invasion into this moment.

Gale starts to move inside me and I'm continually haunted by images of blue eyes and blonde hair and thick fingers pressing into dough.

"Harder," I tell Gale, hoping that it will help rid me of the thoughts that are infiltrating my mind. Gale continues to thrust into me and I can hear his breathing become more and more labored. Our lovemaking is usually not this rough, and Gale is trying his best to adjust to the different pace.

"Harder!" I grunt again, my head still filled with thoughts of broad, muscular shoulders and cool kitchen countertops. I feel frustrated and desperate, coming to the realization that these intimate moments between Gale and I will be tainted by my sin forever.

"Katniss," Gale gasps, his head thrown back as he interrupts my thoughts. "I'm gonna cum."

One final thrust and he fills me, his face contorted into a grimace while his body is overtaken by his orgasm.

He collapses next to me on the bed, both of us trying to catch our breaths. I'm exhausted, both physically and emotionally and Gale must sense that something's up.

"Hey," he starts. "Are you alright? It seemed like you had a lot on your mind."

I turn my head to look at him, knowing that I can't tell him the real reason my mind is so preoccupied. "I'm fine," I try to assure him. "Just, you've been busy with work and the campaign, and I'm trying to manage all the wedding stuff; I'm just distracted, I guess."

Gale hooks his arm around my waist and presses a kiss to my forehead. "Don't worry, Catnip," he jokes. "After the wedding and the election, we'll have the rest of our lives to make love without all of these distractions."

I give him a small smile and watch as he slowly drifts back to sleep. I turn my head and stare at the ceiling, my mind racing until the sun comes up.

* * *

**A/N: **Thanks for reading! Man, this chapter was a struggle for me. To all you fellow Everlark shippers, worry not. Our favorite baker will be back!

As always, thank you to my beta **katniss****inme** for all of her help!

I also started using tumblr, so check that out for story updates/progress or to ask questions! Username: drmellark

Thanks to all who have followed, favorite-d and reviewed. Let me know what you thought of this chapter!


	6. Lucky

Chapter 6: Lucky

The next day Prim comes over to the apartment to take care of more wedding preparations. I figure helping more with the planning is one of the steps I can take in recommitting to my relationship with Gale. It also gives me the chance to spend some time with Prim, who has been so busy with school that I rarely get to see her anymore.

The coffee table is littered with books and magazines; I'm sitting with Prim on the couch in my sweatpants, clutching a mug of hot chocolate while I try my best to keep up. She's talking a million miles a minute, flipping through a magazine with a dozen post-it flags bookmarking pages with ideas for centerpieces and invitations and favors.

My greatest contributions to this planning session include the occasional head nod, raised eyebrow and the exaggerated "Ah" whenever she comes to some kind of epiphany. She's busy going down her wedding planning checklist, reading the items aloud more for her own benefit than for mine.

"And the wedding cake is all taken care of, right?"

My muscles go rigid at the mention of anything remotely pastry related. The words get caught in my throat so I just nod in affirmation.

"Great!" she says, looking back down at the checklist.

Considering how complicated things are now, perhaps I should subtly hint that maybe the wedding cake might not work out as planned. The more I think about it, I doubt that Peeta would go as far as canceling or sabotaging the order. No, the ball's in my court now and I need to make the decision of proactively pulling the order from Cornucopia or just keeping it and risking the possible awkwardness that could come with any continued association.

I finally come to the conclusion that I should just keep the order with Cornucopia. After all, I've already hurt Peeta enough by misleading him, even if it was relatively unintentional on my part. But I dragged him into this mess by going home with him after the bar and then showing up that night at the bakery and not stopping him when I know I could have, when I know I _should_ have. I'm sure that pulling such a large order from his growing business might only serve to add insult to injury. Not to mention the fact that Prim will ask some very unwelcome questions if I bring up changing anything in this fairytale wedding she seems to be planning.

"So, I have most of everything taken care of," Prim continues. "But I need you to check in with the bakery at some point between now and September to make sure everything is still on track."

I can't go back to Cornucopia. I kept going back even after I found out Peeta's connection to the place, fooling myself into thinking we could be friends. But the past week's events have made it very clear that despite my wishful thinking, the connection between Peeta and me is far more dangerous than one between "just friends."

I have to talk my way out of this.

"Hey, Prim? How about you take care of the rest of this bakery stuff and I'll take point on the flowers?" I'm hoping she doesn't pry any further but the way her eyebrow is raised, I know I haven't escaped the need to provide some reason for throwing even this small wrench into her plans.

"It's just," I start, hoping a believable reason will just magically pop into my head. "I've actually been stopping by the bakery pretty often lately…" I feel her eyes on me, and I'm trying not to panic as I scramble for an explanation. "And they have these cheese buns, right? And they're really good, but I can't stop eating them, so I'm actually trying my best to avoid the place so I don't gain too much weight before the wedding."

_Great, Katniss, _I think. _Keep blaming it on the cheese buns._

I search Prim's face for any hit of suspicion, but her face softens and she smiles. "It's good you're watching your figure," she encourages.

I feel relieved, and slightly pleased that Prim believed my pathetic excuse, but then I remember that she was at the bar that night I went home with Peeta the first time. Of course, she had an early night and wasn't exactly in the most heightened state of awareness when she left, but if she goes to Cornucopia and recognizes Peeta, she'll probably ask why I never mentioned the coincidence.

"So… Remember that night we went downtown to celebrate the engagement?" I ask, cautiously.

Prim brings her hand to her forehead. "Oh, God. Don't remind me. I puked like four times that night, or at least that's what Rory told me. I can barely remember anything. Though I do remember that the hangover the next day was the worst. Why?"

"Well, it's kind of a funny coincidence, but one of the guys we met that night owns Cornucopia."

Prim's eyes light up. "Really? Which guy?"

I clear my throat, hoping my tone doesn't give anything away. "Uh, Peeta. One of the blondes."

"Wow, that's so cool," she grins. "What are the odds, huh?"

She goes back to her checklist but her head snaps back up, as if a lost memory has suddenly hit her.

"Oh, Peeta! Isn't he the one with the gorgeous blue eyes that you were talking to?"

I flash her an awkward half-smile and nod. I shakily bring my mug to my lips and take a giant gulp of the hot chocolate, swallowing hard.

Then I sense the suspicious look Prim shoots at me before tentatively turning her attention back to the checklist.

* * *

I spend the next month playing the role of model fiancée. I try and be more attentive and to be more useful at home, preparing myself for my future role as a wife.

_Wife. _I have yet to get used to that idea.

Gale is making an effort, too. He takes more time off of work; makes time for us to do things we used to enjoy together. It reminds me of just how much we get along. We're so much alike that it's a blessing and a curse.

It's almost like it used to be. Almost.

My first step in my recommitment to Gale was taking on more responsibility for the wedding. The next step was to invest more time and effort into Gale's political career. I accompany him to events, do my fair share of talking to supporters, and try to listen with some interest when he talks to me about his campaign platform.

And that's how I ended up in this stuffy, packed ballroom at the mayor's mansion. I quickly learned that the first rule of throwing a campaign fundraiser dinner was to overbook it; the less space between people the better because it gives off the illusion that more people are supporting you. I feel slightly claustrophobic surrounded by all of these well-dressed, pretentious people who have shelled out good money to eat a plate of mediocre food all to support Gale's campaign.

I spend the beginning of the night on Gale's arm, greeting people with an artificial smile plastered on my face. I can only stay convincing for so long before Gale notices my wavering enthusiasm. He handles it gracefully, though, and subtly dismisses me of my responsibilities by asking me to check on the appetizers.

I know his request is just an excuse to let me off the hook so I take it as my cue to grab a champagne flute off of a waiter's tray and wind down. Rubbing elbows with these political types is exhausting. I go straight for the edge of the ballroom; it's the place I feel the most comfortable. I sip the champagne, hoping it will calm my nerves and that the small buzz from the alcohol will help loosen me up enough to endure the rest of the night.

I scan the room, spotting some familiar faces of friends, family, acquaintances, but I find even more unfamiliar ones. The turn out is impressive; it seems like a lot of people share Gale's political beliefs and visions. It makes me proud to know that he has had such an impact and it only reaffirms that politics is a world in which Gale belongs.

I lock eyes with Prim across the room. She is affectionately hanging on Rory's arm while they do their own share of ass-kissing on Gale's behalf.

She smiles and excuses herself, pushing through the crowd toward me. Once she gets close enough, she snatches the half empty champagne flute from my hand and takes a long sip. I scowl at her; I need as much liquid courage as I can get.

"We're really lucky, aren't we?" Prim ponders, smiling softly at me.

"Hmm?" I respond, unsure of what exactly she's referring to.

She gestures in the direction from where she came from and I find that Gale has joined Rory, both of them animatedly chatting up a campaign donor. Gale's in his element. It comes so easily to him while I need coaching and coddling and effort and alcohol to even act cordial in front of all of these strangers.

"Lucky to have such smart, caring, and gorgeous men who love us," Prim clarifies.

As if on cue, Gale looks in our direction, flashing the two of us a smile and a wink from across the room. Rory, who is rugged and handsome just like his older brother, gives us a smile of his own and a modest wave. We both smile back, acknowledging their attention.

Prim looks back at me, her gaze cautious as if she's trying to gauge my reaction.

I look at her and grin. "We _are_ lucky, Prim," I agree.

Because it's true, I am lucky. Gale is intelligent, passionate, determined. He understands me. I feel comfortable and safe around him. Plus he isn't too hard on the eyes either.

What more could I ask for?

Prim seems satisfied by my answer and makes her way back to Rory. I'm still not ready to dive back into all of the political brown-nosing so I stick to the perimeter of the ballroom and continue my observations from afar.

I spot Madge in the crowd. Her father is responsible for throwing the fundraiser in Gale's honor and poor Madge looks exhausted trying to play the role of gracious host. She's being pulled in all sorts of directions but she takes it all in stride. Being the mayor's daughter has exposed her to this world of politics for longer than I have been. Maybe sometime in the future I can adapt to this life like she has.

I overhear two women standing relatively close to me, quietly chattering and I turn my attention to them. By the looks of it, they're likely the young trophy wives or girlfriends of two of the many wealthy, influential donors in attendance. I'm not interested in gossip, but I allow myself to eavesdrop; after all, these are the type of women I'm going to have to interact with should Gale continue on his political path. I smooth out the wrinkles in the skirt of my modest flared dress, trying to subtly hide the fact that I'm listening in to their conversation.

"He's gorgeous, isn't he?" the curvy redhead swoons.

Based off of my observations, most of the men at this event aren't exactly impressive in the looks department. This leads me to believe that the two of them are talking about Gale. I should probably feel jealous or possessive, but I don't.

"He is!" the leggy blonde agrees. "I mean, look at those eyes."

Huh, maybe they're not talking about Gale. I mean, Gale's eyes are unique, grey like mine, but they're not particularly noteworthy or impressive.

"And that head of blonde hair," the redhead continues. "What I wouldn't give to run my fingers through them. Muss it up a little bit," she chuckles.

Nope, they're definitely not talking about Gale.

"Oh my God, he's looking right over here," the blonde squeals.

Their exchange has got me curious so I look over to them and follow their line of sight, trying to find this blonde specimen with the remarkable eyes

I quickly scan the room trying to find the mystery man that has got these two women so worked up. Then, as if I was in some sappy romantic comedy, the crowd parts and I find him.

Blonde hair. Blue eyes. Broad shoulders. Baker.

And he's looking right at me.

The temperature in the room spikes to a million degrees and my face flushes. My heart stops beating, then resumes at twice the healthy pace.

Just my luck.

He's here. In the same room as me. And Gale.

Peeta fucking Mellark.

* * *

**A/N**: Told you he'd be back, my fellow Everlark-ers! Chapter 7 is one of the chapters I've been DYING to write so I expect that it shouldn't take _too_ long for the next update. Hopefully.

Thank you to **katnissinme** for her beta work on this chapter!

Check out my tumblr for story progress/updates and feel free to ask me any questions on there!  
**drmellark** dot **tumblr** dot **com**

Thanks to everyone who has followed, favorite-d or reviewed! Please leave a review, or send a question to my ask box and let me know what you thought of the chapter!


	7. Stare

Chapter 7: Stare

I can't think. I can't breathe. I'm panicking.

Because he's here. At Gale's campaign fundraiser. The man I've successfully avoided for the past month.

Peeta Mellark.

We hold each other's gaze from opposite sides of the ballroom. It's like time has frozen and we're both just stuck in place, staring at each other.

I try and take the steps to compose myself.

_Don't panic. Deep breaths. Act natural. Look away._

But I can't bring myself to break the connection.

Suddenly I hear the announcement that dinner is about to be served and I snap out of my trance. I make my way to my assigned table, keeping my head down the entire time.

I'm seated with Gale, Prim and the rest of the Hawthorne family at the head table, along with Mayor Undersee, his wife, and Madge. Gale pulls out my chair for me like the gentleman he is.

I try and stop myself from looking for Peeta, from seeing where he's seated, but I can't help it. If I find him, then I'll know where _not_ to look. Right.

My eyes sweep the room and I find him sitting at a table that is directly in my line of sight. He effortlessly chats with the people he's sitting with, but as I watch him, his eyes snap back to me.

I immediately look away.

What is he doing here? My mind frantically searches for all the possible reasons for his presence.

Maybe he's here to make me feel guilty; to remind me of all the things I did to him, to Gale.

Maybe he wants to confront me in front of all of these people.

I glance up again, and find his eyes are still fixed in my direction.

My nerves rise and when the food finally arrives, I devour it quickly, with no consideration for proper etiquette. I try and keep up with the conversation, pretending to be interested in what everyone has to say, nodding my head, answering questions when I am addressed or smiling whenever it seems like the polite thing to do.

But my thoughts are preoccupied, my attention turned elsewhere.

Numerous times during the main course, my eyes unconsciously find his across the room. I keep watching him, waiting for him to make a move, to come over here and cause a scene.

But he just keeps _staring_.

The panic I feel slowly evolves into frustration every time his eyes catch mine.

I shift uncomfortably in my seat, his eyes boring into me. And as frustrated as I'm getting by Peeta's constant attention, I can't help but notice how easily and intensely my body is responding to him. Because as much as I want him to quit staring, a part of me hopes that he never stops.

I scan the faces of everyone at my table and, surprisingly, they don't seem suspicious about my behavior despite how out of control I feel. Everyone's too engrossed in conversation to notice and besides the quick glance he gave me when I was talking to Prim, Gale has been too busy putting on a face and trying to please everybody to pay me much attention.

I feel like I'm suffocating; from Peeta's constant scrutiny, from the sheer amount of bodies in the room, from the pressure to stay calm in front of all of these people. I need to escape, to find a place where I can compose myself.

Somewhere away from those blue eyes.

I politely excuse myself from the table to go freshen up. Before I leave, Gale reminds me to be back before his big speech at 9. But, other than that, nobody questions my intentions, and they quickly go back to their conversation as I walk away from the table.

I make my way toward the giant doors that lead to the residential wing of the mansion, attempting to keep a normal pace. I push through the doors and into a long hallway, gathering speed as I move farther from the ballroom. Then I hear the door creak behind me.

"Katniss!"

I turn around and find Peeta following me. Damnit. He's the very person I'm trying to avoid.

I try and break into a sprint, but I'm wearing heels so the best I can manage is a quick shuffle. At this rate, I know I can't out run him so I frantically scan each room in the hallway, looking for a place I can escape.

I find an open room and make my way toward it, grabbing the door and attempting to swing it closed behind me. But Peeta has caught up and stops the door before it can shut.

We're in a small study, built-in bookshelves line the walls and there is a giant, solid oak desk in the middle of the room. I dash behind the desk, using it as a sort of barrier between the two of us.

"What are you doing here?!" I scream, frustrated at my failed attempt to get away from him.

"I was invited," he answers, shutting the door behind him. "Your _fiancé_ is trying to gain support from local business owners and I was asked to make a donation."

I feel completely flustered, especially by the fact that he produced such a legitimate excuse for being here. His reason makes sense, but it still doesn't answer the question. He had to have known when he got the invitation that I would be here. After all, Gale's name was on the wedding cake contract, along with mine.

So why is he here?

"Well, you keep _staring_ at me!" I accuse, unable to come up with anything more eloquent to say.

"I am not staring at you," he responds, but his eyes are clearly fixed on mine and I'm not in any mood to play this game.

"Yes you are!" I yell across the desk. "I'm here, trying to be supportive of Gale, trying to be a good fiancée, and then you show up and you keep _looking_ at me! And I can't think straight when you look at me like that so just STOP!"

I try to catch my breath after my outburst, our eyes still locked on one other as I watch his brow furrow.

"Do you think I want to look at you?" he snaps, the frustration evident in his voice. I'm frozen in place as he takes slow steps toward me.

"That I don't know that what I am feeling for you is wrong on so many levels? You're getting _married_, Katniss. I'm supposed to make your damn wedding cake, for fuck's sake. Not only that, you slept with me, _twice_, only to run away both times. Once without so much as a goodbye, and then staying long enough the second time to drop the bomb that you're still _engaged_?"

I'm stunned silent by the bluntness of his words. I keep willing my body to move as he makes his way around the desk, my mind quickly calculating all the ways that I can get away from him. But I'm paralyzed, my feet rooted to the floor.

Because, by the way Peeta's looking at me, I feel like prey that's about to be devoured and I can't shake the overwhelming feeling that if he gets any closer, I would let him.

"There are a million reasons I shouldn't be looking at you, Katniss. I know that," he continues, closing the gap between us.

"But no matter how hard I try," he breathes, our faces just inches apart. "I can't seem to care about a goddamn one."

Suddenly, his lips crash against mine and the force causes me to stumble backwards until my back collides with the bookshelves behind me. I feverishly respond to the assault, biting his bottom lip, my tongue dueling with his as his mouth claims mine. His hands are wrapped around my back, pulling me closer. My body ignites, and I feel the electricity shoot down my spine, radiating out to my most intimate places.

We continue the passionate kiss until Peeta abruptly pulls away. We're both panting, breaths intermingling. I'm too stunned to say or do anything, but he's the first to break the silence.

"Do you know that every time I hear the bell at the front door of the bakery, I look up and hope that it's you?" he whispers, leaning in so his lips brush my ear. "And that the reason I came here tonight was to see the two of you together. To convince myself that I didn't have a chance, that I should let you go."

His hands travel from behind my back to my sides, and my whole body shivers at the feel of his palms and the sound of his voice.

"But then I saw the way you look at him, and more importantly the way you look at me. And all I wanted to do was to touch you again. To taste you, feel you. To make you scream my name. Does he make you feel the way I do, Katniss?"

He finally rests his hands on my hips, squeezing the flesh beneath his palms, his breathing heavy and ragged. The question causes my body to tense, because I'm terrified to admit the answer to myself. Peeta relents and loosens his grip, as if sensing my apprehension. He presses his forehead to mine and sighs.

"Katniss, if you don't want this then just say the word and I'll walk out of this room and never contact you again. But you're going to have to say it, because if you don't," he pauses, taking a deep breath. "I don't think I'll have the self control to stop myself."

He's forcing me to put it into words, to confirm or deny whether I want to keep going. He's taking the passion of the moment out of the equation and forcing me to make a conscious decision about whether I want him to stop or continue.

I think about all the reasons that we shouldn't give in to each other. All the moral and ethical and practical reasons why I shouldn't give in to this desire that has been ignited by Peeta's gaze and lips and words and touch.

"I don't want…" I begin, my voice faltering.

But I can't bring myself to finish the sentence.

Peeta sighs, and begins to move away, taking a small step backwards and widening the space between us. The separation suddenly makes me aware of how desperately I miss his warmth, his lips, his body against mine.

And I finally admit to myself that, despite all the reasons I shouldn't, I _do_ want this.

I grab his shoulders to halt his retreat and my eyes lock with his.

"I don't want… to stop," I whisper.

The corners of his lips turn up into a small smirk.

He kisses me again, more gently this time, but it builds and builds until we're back at the same frantic pace as earlier. His hands roam my chest over the thin fabric of my dress, my hands reaching down to undo his belt and zipper. He plants wet kisses on my neck, his hands roaming up my thighs and under the skirt, his thumbs latching on the waistband of my panties as he pushes them down my thighs.

The fabric falls and hits my ankles and I step out of them, my hands slipping into the opening in his slacks, gripping him over his boxers. His hands disappear underneath the skirt of my dress, his fingers teasing and exploring my body's response to him. I moan as I pull him out through the fly of boxers and slacks.

Suddenly, his hand grabs my wrist, bringing it up and over my head. He steps forward, pressing his body against mine, pinning me against the bookcase. I step out of one of my shoes, bringing the heel of my foot up and resting it on one of the lower shelves, giving him better access. His free hand finds the hem of my dress, bunching it up past my thigh. He steps closer, using his own torso to keep my skirt from cascading back down, gripping his hardness in his hand and positioning himself at my entrance.

His other hand lets go of my wrist, traveling down my arm, my side, my hip, and finally settling on my ass. He pushes my hips forward, the tip of his cock probing my wetness, and I whimper.

And slowly, agonizingly, I sink down onto him.

A loud gasp escapes my lips as our hips finally meet. He stares into my eyes, his pupils darkened with lust and he sighs, raggedly. "You have no idea, the effect you can have," he groans.

And he claims me.

His movements are hard, rough, like he means each thrust to be a punishment for dragging him into the mess that is my life.

I bring my other arm up, my hands gripping the shelf above my head, silently praying that the solid wood will be able to withstand the weight.

One of the shelves behind me digs into my back as he pounds into me, a delicious mix of pain and pleasure.

The combination of the build up, the frustration, the frantic pace, and the risk of getting caught quickly catapults both of us to an earth-shattering climax. I try to choke the screams that threaten to escape my lips as we shudder together, satisfied in our completion.

We're both left panting, trying to catch our breaths. Again he looks me in the eyes and there's an unspoken communication that occurs. Like we're both coming to realize that there is this intense, undeniable connection between us that we're both trying to fight.

And we are both failing miserably.

Peeta finally steps back, separating our bodies by a few inches. We stare at each other wordlessly, both afraid to break the silence.

Suddenly, the sound of a grandfather clock in the room disrupts our unspoken conversation. I try and compose my thoughts, counting the number of chimes in an attempt to ground myself.

Seven. Eight. Nine.

Nine chimes.

Gale's speech.

My eyes widen at the realization that I have to get back to the ballroom.

"I have to go!" I gasp, bending down to grab my panties off of the floor. I quickly put them on, and then try my best to smooth out the newly formed wrinkles in my dress.

Peeta tucks himself back into his pants, zipping up his slacks and fumbling with his belt.

"Katniss, we need to talk about this."

"I know," I reply frantically, "I just can't right now. I have somewhere I have to be."

I walk up to the grandfather clock, trying my best to fix my hair in the reflection of the glass. I turn and shoot an apologetic look at Peeta before I bolt out of the room into the hallway.

I reach the entrance to the ballroom and take a deep, cleansing breath. As I reenter the room, I see that Gale, his family and the mayor's family have all made it to the front of the room, though Gale has yet to start his speech. Prim sees me and motions for me to come up and join them.

The mayor gives a quick introduction and Gale makes his way to the podium. He starts to address the crowd when I finally see Peeta reenter the ballroom and make his way back to his seat.

I try to listen to Gale's speech as he lays out his beliefs and platform and plans to all of his supporters, but my mind is racing.

I let it happen again. I have no self-control when I find myself within 50 feet of Peeta Mellark.

And I don't know what I'm going to do.

I know what I _should_ do. I should tell Gale. I have to. He deserves to know, but not tonight. Tonight's his night and I don't want to ruin it. I have to find the right time.

Gale's speech is winding down now. He's thanking the donors for their support, thanking the Undersee's for hosting the event, thanking his family and friends.

"And last but not certainly not least," Gale continues. "I want to thank my beautiful fiancée, Katniss Everdeen. She is my rock, my best friend. She has been with me through everything. I couldn't have accomplished the things I have done without her by my side."

He turns and looks at me, flashing a dazzling smile. My face is hot from embarrassment, from guilt. I know that Gale is just trying to show his appreciation for me but the words cut into my skin like a million tiny knives.

"And in less than three months," he says, turning back to the crowd. "I will have the honor and privilege of making her my wife."

The crowd appears touched by his words of devotion when, suddenly, the sound of silverware hitting glass breaks the silence in the room.

It starts singularly, but grows and grows until the entire room is tapping their forks to their glasses.

It's a sign usually reserved for weddings. A sign for the bride and groom to kiss.

Ever the crowd pleaser, Gale approaches me, takes me in his arms and plants a kiss on my lips.

And it's not a chaste peck, despite what political protocol and etiquette usually dictates.

No, it's deep and lingering and the crowd laps it up because, to them, we are two young people who are passionately in love. I hear the crowd break into applause, as if our kiss is the finale to Gale's speech, with random whistles and hoots intermixed amongst the constant clapping.

We break away and Gale looks at me with a huge smile on his face, as if he's satisfied by our kiss and even more by the crowd's reaction.

I find the faces of Prim and Rory, the rest of the Hawthorne family, and the Undersees who look so happy and excited for us, and so proud of Gale.

Finally, I look out into the crowd and find all the attendees on their feet and clapping, their faces beaming with delighted smiles.

All except for one.

For the hundredth time tonight, my eyes lock with Peeta's.

And I watch as he stands from his seat and turns, shoving his hands in his pockets as he walks out of the ballroom.

* * *

**A/N**: Thanks for reading, and thanks to all who have followed, favorite-d and reviewed!

The "stop looking at me" scene was inspired by a scene in Grey's Anatomy, Season 2, Episode 27: Losing My Religion.

The bookshelf scene was inspired by the movie Atonement.

As always, a special thank you to my beta, **katnissinme**, for her help with this chapter! This story would not be what it is without all of her help!

Follow me on tumblr (**drmellark **dot **tumblr** dot **com**) for story updates/news! Please review or send me an ask on tumblr to let me know what you thought about this chapter!


	8. Pretend

Chapter 8: Pretend

My ears are ringing with the sound of applause but my eyes are firmly glued to the door; the door that Peeta slipped out of just seconds earlier.

At first, I feel compelled to chase after him but the message doesn't reach my feet. It's a good thing that I don't act on my instincts, though; I can't even begin to imagine the controversy I would create by bolting for the exit after that very public display by Gale and me.

Still, I can't get Peeta's face out of my head, the look that he gave me when our eyes met again after my kiss with Gale.

I had expected to see anger. After running out on him again tonight, I would've understood anger. But the look he gave me was something else, something I can't put my finger on, and it's eating me up inside.

Suddenly, I find myself drowning in a sea of bodies. The supporters who rose to their feet after Gale's speech have proceeded to surround the two of us, eager to congratulate and praise the man of the hour. A few of them address me – mostly the trophy wives who are gushing about how sweet Gale is, how lucky I am, how great we are together. I try and acknowledge them, and thank them for their kind words and their support, but I'm too distracted, too consumed by my racing thoughts, my brain replaying Peeta's exit over and over in my head.

The night has been a huge success for Gale, reflected in the mega-watt smile beaming from his face as he enthusiastically juggles the bombardment of well-wishers looking to shake his hand or pose for a photo opportunity. In this chaos, I realize that I could more than likely slip away unnoticed. My eyes dart back and forth between Gale, the mass of bodies surrounding us, and the door, and before I can change my mind I'm pushing my way out of the mob toward the exit.

When I finally reach the perimeter of the crowd I feel a firm grip on my arm, halting my movements. I whip around, slightly panicked, and find Prim, a look of confusion plastered on her face. "Where are you going?" she demands.

I take a second to compose myself before I sputter out an answer. "I can't deal with all these people right now, Prim. I just… I need some fresh air."

"Okay…" Prim replies, cautiously. "Are you okay? Do you want me to come with you?"

"No!" I respond, a little too hastily. I pause and take a deep breath, trying to recover. "Just stay here and help Gale. You're so much better at talking to people than I am. Please, Prim. I'll be fine, I promise. I just need a second to catch my breath."

Prim raises an eyebrow questioningly, but finally nods her head and lets go of my arm before turning back toward the crowd. I again spot the door and make my way toward it, fighting the urge to run. I don't want to draw any more unnecessary attention to my escape.

I make my way through the entry hall and finally make it outside, quickly scanning my surroundings for any sign of Peeta. The mansion grounds are practically deserted with everybody preoccupied with the main event happening inside.

Eventually, I see his figure in the distance, walking down the mansion's long driveway toward the gates that lead to the street. I step out of my heels, knowing that they'll hinder my ability to catch up to him, grab them off the ground and start running toward him barefoot.

"Peeta!" I yell, as I chase after him, reversing the roles that we held earlier in the night in the hallways of the mansion.

He turns, sees me running, and stops, giving me the opportunity to catch up to him. I don't slow my pace until I eventually meet him halfway down the driveway.

We're standing face to face, our eyes locked on one another again. He stares at me expectantly, as if waiting for me to say something.

I start to open my mouth, but no words come out; only the sounds of my labored breathing. In the time between watching Peeta walk out of the ballroom and chasing him here, I hadn't even considered what I was going to say if I was able to catch up to him. All I knew was that I couldn't just watch him walk away and leave things the way that they were.

We continue our stare-down for a few more moments before Peeta finally gives in and breaks the connection, his hands still lodged in his pockets, his eyes trailing off into the distance.

"So, Gale seems like a nice guy," he starts, refusing to make eye contact with me. "He'll make a great politician. Really knows how to play to a crowd."

Peeta chuckles softly, but it's hollow and empty. I know that it's just his desperate attempt at making small talk, trying to fill the silence that has settled between us while avoiding the real issue at hand. Yet I still can't bring myself to utter a word. My continued silence seems to unnerve him and he brings his hand up and runs it nervously through his hair.

"What are we doing?" he asks rhetorically, distraught. He brings his gaze up to me, searching my face for an answer that won't seem to come. His eyes drop down to my left hand, finally resting on the large diamond still affixed to my ring finger. "Are you going to marry him?"

I bring up my left hand and look lamely at the ring; the ring we both conveniently ignored earlier in the night. After wearing it for so long I had grown accustomed to the weight of it on my hand, but in this moment it feels exceptionally heavy.

As I continue to stare at the diamond, I'm suddenly reminded of what it represents. I remember everybody waiting for me inside: all of my family and friends, and Gale. People I care about and want to protect. I remember the happiness beaming from all of their faces at the end of Gale's speech. I think of the pictures on the wall of our apartment, the years I've spent with Gale, the smile on his face when I agreed to marry him. The memories swirl through my head, clouding my thoughts while the weight of my obligations and expectations hits me all at once, echoed in how heavy the ring suddenly feels.

"I…," I begin, weakly "I made him a promise."

Peeta looks down at the driveway and snickers, absentmindedly kicking a bit of gravel with his shoe. "That promise sure meant a lot to you about 20 minutes ago."

I'm stunned by his bluntness and I watch as he shakes his head, turns his back to me and starts walking further down the driveway. The fog inside my head starts to clear and anger swells up in my body as I watch him walk away, the words finally finding their way out of my mouth.

"No!" I shout, stalking closely behind him. "You don't just get to walk away!"

"Why?" he replies bitterly over his shoulder. "You're the one who's so good at it."

Now I'm livid. I throw my heels down and run past him, turning around to face him and promptly blocking his path. "You do not get to act all hurt and wounded after watching my kiss my _fiancé_!" I scold, pointing my finger into his chest. "You're the one who decided to show up here. You knew that I would be here and that Gale would be here. What the hell did you expect?"

This time, it's Peeta who seems at a loss for words, seemingly shocked silent by my sudden outburst.

"I was trying to be a supportive fiancée!" I continue rambling. "I was trying to do the right thing and recommit to my relationship. But then you had to show up here and back me into a corner!"

"I gave you an out!" he finally counters. "I gave you an out and you didn't take it."

Now we're both back to staring at each other at a stalemate. Because in this moment, we realize we're both at fault, both responsible for the mess we now find ourselves in.

Both of our hands are dirty.

"Well, I wanted to forget it!" I spit, all the frustration of the past month finally boiling up into this one moment. "Before you showed up tonight, I wanted to forget that anything ever happened between us!"

However, I omit the fact that I was completely and utterly failing on that front. How the short time I had spent with Peeta had constantly been on my mind, no matter how desperately I tried to erase it from my memory.

"Well maybe I didn't want to forget!" he shouts, both of us stunned by the words, and volume at which he said them.

"I told you why I came here," Peeta reminds me, his voice quickly quieting to harsh whisper. "Ever since you flew out of the doors of my bakery, I've been practically driving myself crazy trying to understand what went on between us. What **_is_** going on between us. I came here because I wanted to shut the door on it once and for all. You think I walked out because you were kissing him?" He shakes his head. "I walked out because I couldn't stand seeing you pretend anymore."

"Pretend?!" I snap back, suddenly feeling defensive. "What do you know about Gale? About our relationship? What do you know about _me_? I mean, what do we have, Peeta? A drunken night at your apartment? A month of small talk about pastries? A couple of fucks on a kitchen counter and against a bookshelf?"

"No!" he interrupts. "You do not get to belittle what has been going on between us. It's more than that and you know it!"

I can barely acknowledge what he says before the words continue to spill from my mouth. "Gale and I have been together for years! I've known you for what? A few months? Who do you think you are to talk to me about _my_ life?"

Peeta takes a deep breath, his body relaxing from his tense, argumentative stance. "You're right, " he admits. "It is _your _life. And yes, I haven't known you that long, and maybe I don't know everything about you. But I'd like to believe that there are some things about you that I do know."

His hand comes up to tenderly grip my chin, tilting my head up so he can look me in the eyes. I'm still angry, my body tense and guarded. Part of me wants to swat his hand away, but the way he's looking at me, I can't bring myself to do it.

"First and foremost," he continues, his gaze suddenly gentle and soft, his other hand moving to brush a stray piece of hair from my face, "you are a passionate, fiery, fierce woman. It's easy to see if you know where to look. And it's not just when you're so consumed by desire that we can barely keep our hands off of each other. I hear it in the way you laugh, or in that sound you make whenever you take that first bite of a freshly baked cheese bun. I've seen it in the way you look at your little sister, that protective way you watch over her; the way you defend and care for the people important to you. In fact, I can see it right now in your eyes, that fire."

He pauses and searches my face before bringing his hands back down, a look of frustration now invading his features. "But what I saw tonight? That girl hanging on the arm of some politician, begrudgingly rubbing elbows with all of these stuck up, privileged socialites? That girl forced to stage kisses all for the approval of a crowd? That wasn't real! That wasn't that fiery woman that I know you are!"

"Do you know how much easier it would be to walk away if I knew that all of this would make you happy?" he says, gesturing back toward the mansion. "But I'm too involved now. I can't just leave you alone until I'm convinced that this is the life you really want."

"It's more complicated than that!" I retort. I avoid his gaze, knowing that if I look him in the eyes it'll only serve to make me even more confused. "I love Gale! He's my best friend. His family is practically my family! We were meant to be together. I… I want to marry him!" I insist, with as much enthusiasm as my body can muster.

And as the words tumble out of my mouth, I don't know who I'm trying harder to convince, Peeta or myself.

I shake my head as if the motion will somehow make it easier to organize all the thoughts racing inside my head. "It doesn't matter what I want. I can't just walk away from all of that! Do you realize how many people I would hurt if I just walked away?"

"I'm not asking whether it would be easy, I'm not asking what your family wants, and I'm not asking you to leave him for me," Peeta replies, his voice dripping with frustration. "I'm asking you what **you** want!"

His words hang in the thick, tension-filled air but my brain ceases to function, so exhausted by all of the emotions of the night.

Peeta must sense my internal struggle and steps forward, cupping my face in his hands and imploring me to look at him. "Katniss," he pleads. "Don't let them or their expectations turn you into somebody you're not."

I peek up at him through my lashes, finally allowing myself to look into those dangerous blue eyes; eyes filled with genuine concern. He wants an answer, but I have nothing for him. I have no idea what I want, and I can't decide whether it's because I truly don't know, or because I'm too afraid to admit it to myself.

"It's not up to you to save me," I finally whisper, stubbornly.

Peeta sighs, removing his hands from my face and shoving them back into his pockets.

"You're right," he says as he turns his back to me. Before he walks away, he looks over his shoulder and our eyes lock one last time. "Only you can do that."

* * *

A/N: Hey everyone, so sorry about the long gap between updates.

Thanks to my beta, **katnissinme **for her help with this chapter! Also, thank you to those who have sent me or left me encouraging messages during my long hiatus. I really, really appreciated it!

A quick note about this chapter: The exchange between Peeta and Katniss was very much inspired by two movie scenes: the "fight" scene at the end of "The Notebook" and the gymnasium scene in "Titanic". Some of you might notice that I borrowed some of the dialogue from those scenes so I wanted to give proper credit where credit is due.

As for when the next update will come, I'm afraid I can't give a strict time frame for when that will happen, thanks to my busy semester.

In the meantime, check out my Tumblr (drmellark dot tumblr dot com) for updates on my fic status. I have a little section on my side bar where I put the status of the next chapters of my fics. I also try and participate in "Six Sentence Sunday" where fic authors share six sentences from one or more their writing projects every Sunday, so keep an eye out for that! Again, thanks for sticking around during the longer-than-anticipated hiatus! And, as always, thanks for reading, following, favorite-ing and reviewing!


End file.
